Mazel Tov
by mysticpotion
Summary: Next story in my 'Curing Wilson series can be read seperately but recommend reading the other parts also, 'Crossing the Bridge' and 'It's not what people say, It's what they do' House has a couple of important things to tell his Mother - Friendship/Slash pairing Rated K


**Hi hope you are enjoying this wee series of story's. Will try and get the next part up soon. Won't be long until I introduce some more people from their past I think :O****  
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**Mazal Tov**

"I'm not dead and we're getting married"

Blythe House wasn't one to faint. In fact she couldn't remember any point in life when she had ever passed out or felt queasy even for the slightest of moments. Alone in child birth, she was a machine of cool and collective composure to those medical staff fussing around her. When House was ten and he 'accidentally' set fire to her husband's military regalia and then ran away for six days, she never shed a tear or lost a night's sleep. On day six when they finally found him selling drugs for a Fagan like character, who had fully initiated him into the fold of the local vagrant communities dodgy lifestyles, she had not cried out in relief or even hugged him. She did not feel sad at the realisation that her son would have rather stayed with those criminals than come back with her and John that night. She did not cry at John's funeral. Not real tears anyway. She did not faint at being told of House's death by James. She simply didn't operate that way. Until now.

"Mom... Mom...get the hell up!"

"House! Don't talk to her like that. I mean she's your mother! She's just had a big shock."

" You didn't faint"

" I wasn't that happy to see you"

"Liar"

Blythe's eyes clawed back some daylight but everything was still fuzzy and unclear as she tried to piece together why she was lying on her doorstep hearing the voice of her dead son. Why was she also hearing James's voice?Had he already died?

"Jesus Wilson! I told you this was more hassle than it's worth. This is your fault as usual."

"How is this all my fault exactly? I didn't fake my death and make my own mother sit through my fake funeral!"

"No you just delivered your terminal diagnosis to your mother then ran away with the guy who faked his own death, TO DIE!"

"As much as I would really love to stand on this porch and draw even more attention to your Lazarus like state, this really isn't the time for this. Help me get your elderly mother up off the floor please; she can't just stay there with you yelling at her and me."

"Whatever."

"Ahhhhh Fuuuu...Ahhhhh, what the hell just stabbed my foot?"

"Oh I meant to tell you Wilson, there's a loose nail in the floorboard over their so be careful"

" Ass!"

Suddenly Blythe felt herself being hoisted into the air. Ghosts or voices in her head couldn't do that. Still In shock and her vision now only slightly cloudy, she was guided to the nearby sofa. A cold drink of water was thrust into her hand. A different more soothing hand then rested itself on her back and she was asked to sip slowly and take deep breaths.

"Always the care giver Doctor Wilson"

"Shut up House."

Blythe's mind suddenly clicked into gear and in an instant she stood bolt upright. Greg wasn't dead. Greg had faked his death. Of course he had, why hadn't she seen it? A jail sentence hanging over him, the only person he really ever cared about dying. Of course he had and she missed it. He had gotten one over on her. She was devastated about that. Oh yes he was alive and that was all well and good really, but that sneaky devil's spawn of her loins had pulled the biggest lie that had ever existed between them. If she wasn't so annoyed she had been completely trounced, she would have been immensely proud that he'd actually gotten one over on her and the American law system. He was a 'dead' fugitive on the run with his dying best friend. The both of them were currently in her House hiding out. This made her an accessory. The corner of her mouth arched upwards into a smile. Her son was many things but he hadn't turned out boring like John. Thank God for genetics.

Blythe are you okay? Do you know what's happening?

Blythe turned to Wilson and put a warm hand on his cheek. She didn't care much for James if she was honest, he was just too much of a people pleaser but he loved the bones of Greg. At least someone did. As she regained her composure and focused her icy eyes on the equally cold and unremorseful ones of her son, she spoke calmly to Wilson as if she hadn't just blacked out only moments before. As if she wasn't currently looking at her child she thought dead only 30 minutes beforehand.

"If I recall correctly, Greg isn't dead and you and him are getting married, Mazal Tov"


End file.
